Bridesmaids Read Online Free PDF Page A

bulb.
    ‘We went to Liverpool University together,’ I say, before realising he appears to be waiting for me to elaborate. ‘We shared a house in the last two years.’
    ‘But you’re not from Liverpool originally?’ he asks, studying my accent.
    ‘Not far away,’ I say. ‘About forty-five minutes north.’
    ‘It’s a great city,’ he says. ‘I love it.’
    ‘So you don’t live there yourself?’ I ask, annoyed with myself for wanting to know.
    ‘I’ve just moved there,’ he says. ‘With work.’
    Under other circumstances, I’d pursue this as a line of conversation, but the last thing I want is for him to think I’m interested.
    ‘I didn’t know Valentina had a new boyfriend,’ I say instead, wondering immediately why I’m bringing this up.
    ‘We’ve only actually been out together once before,’ Jack tells me. ‘I’m a member of her tennis club.’
    I look up to see Valentina flouncing towards us as if she’s at Paris Fashion Week, before sitting down and putting her hand conspicuously on Jack’s knee. Our conversation comes to an abrupt halt.
    ‘I’m really not sure about this dress,’ she muses, inching the hem up. ‘Jack, what do you think? I can’t decide whether it shows off too much leg.’
    She crosses her legs slowly–to show exactly how much leg there is. Jack’s eyes are drawn to them momentarily, before he looks away. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I could detect a slight sense of embarrassment.
    The other guests on our table start to arrive, beginning with two of Grace’s aunts. Auntie Sylvia and Auntie Anne are both lovely, tiny women who are dressed today as visions of dusty pink and powder blue, respectively. They both have huge hats, candyfloss perms and meticulously co-ordinated outfits that look like the sort of thing you’d find in a catalogue distributed with the Mail on Sunday .
    Their husbands, Uncle Giles and Uncle Tom, have spruced themselves up just as much as their wives, although without quite the same panache. Uncle Tom has made a daring attempt at a comb-over, with just a handful of stragglyhairs clinging to his scalp for dear life. I’m finding it difficult to tear my eyes away from it.
    ‘Ay up, love,’ says a voice I recognise immediately.
    I leap up and hug Georgia, another of my old university friends, who is here with her new fiancé, Pete.
    Georgia is by far and away the wealthiest individual I know, but to the untrained ear you’d never guess it–the accent is more Daphne Moon than Princess Di.
    Georgia’s dad grew up in near-poverty in Blackburn and is a self-made man whose company is now the largest manufacturer of plastic bags in Europe. It is perhaps because of his background that Georgia and her family are the most down-to-earth millionaires you could ever hope to meet. She’d be the first to admit she loves to spend, but she’s also exceptionally generous and sometimes gives the impression of not being entirely comfortable with her wealth.
    ‘So, how’s your practice-run as a bridesmaid been, Evie?’ she asks.
    ‘Good,’ I tell her. ‘I might even have worked out what I’m meant to be doing by the time it’s your wedding.’
    When we left university, Georgia was one of the few who didn’t remain in Liverpool and, although we stayed in touch, the rest of us didn’t see nearly as much of her as we would have liked. That’s all changed in the last couple of months since the preparations for her wedding really got underway. We have had to meet up for so many dress fittings I’m starting to imagine what it must feel like to be a shop dummy.
    ‘I love your outfit, by the way,’ I tell her.
    Georgia always looks fantastic. Today she is wearing a cream suit which I’d guess is YSL–her favourite–and a simple but beautiful diamond necklace.
    ‘Oh, cheers, love,’ she says. ‘It was from Top Shop.’
    I smile. If that suit is from Top Shop then I’m a world champion Sumo wrestler. But I’m not going to be the one